American Life in Poetry: I Am Bound for de Kingdom
Kwame Dawes. Courtesy photo. Florence Price and Marian Anderson were two great American artists whose collaborations — Price as pianist, arranger and composer, and Anderson as exemplary singer — represented the triumph of art over adversity.
Marlanda Dekine’s moving poem “I Am Bound for de Kingdom” is named after a negro spiritual for which these two black women are famous.
Dekine reminds us of the difficult world of racism experienced by their “ascendants” and shows how, with their art, they would take the risk and “leave the driveway.”
I Am Bound for de Kingdom By Marlanda Dekine —after Florence Price and Marian Anderson
My granddaddy Silas was born on the Nightingale plantation in Plantersville, South Carolina, on riverbanks that loved three generations of my kin, captured in a green-tinted photograph, hanging in my daddy’s den.
Tonight, my eyes will take each old-world bird from the cropped space, send them home with their songs and favorite foods.
Look out for me I’m a-coming too
with rice, okra, hard-boiled eggs, and Lord Calvert.
My daddy says if I get out of my car on Nightingale land, the folks who own it might shoot. My daddy says, “Never leave the driveway.”
Glory into my soul
I watch all of my ascendants. Their faces reflecting me in that photograph. Their eyes are dead black-eyed Susans.
Kwame Dawes. Courtesy photo. Florence Price and Marian Anderson were two great American artists whose collaborations — Price as pianist, arranger and composer, and Anderson as exemplary singer — represented the triumph of art over adversity.
Marlanda Dekine’s moving poem “I Am Bound for de Kingdom” is named after a negro spiritual for which these two black women are famous.
Dekine reminds us of the difficult world of racism experienced by their “ascendants” and shows how, with their art, they would take the risk and “leave the driveway.”
I Am Bound for de Kingdom By Marlanda Dekine —after Florence Price and Marian Anderson
My granddaddy Silas was born on the Nightingale plantation in Plantersville, South Carolina, on riverbanks that loved three generations of my kin, captured in a green-tinted photograph, hanging in my daddy’s den.
Tonight, my eyes will take each old-world bird from the cropped space, send them home with their songs and favorite foods.
Look out for me I’m a-coming too
with rice, okra, hard-boiled eggs, and Lord Calvert.
My daddy says if I get out of my car on Nightingale land, the folks who own it might shoot. My daddy says, “Never leave the driveway.”
Glory into my soul
I watch all of my ascendants. Their faces reflecting me in that photograph. Their eyes are dead black-eyed Susans.